


Into the Fire

by WangEun



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Being a child soldier is hard, Family, Gen, Grieving is hard, Hakoda (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar) Needs a Hug, Sokka and his relationship with death, This boy is traumatized
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:28:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26785960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WangEun/pseuds/WangEun
Summary: “Is that what mom looked like? Did she look like that when you saw her?”Katara looks up at him from her sewing and gives him a look. It’s the same look he’s always gotten when he’s tried to get this information out of her. It’s a look of frustration and sadness and hurt. It is not a memory she has ever liked to reflect on, seeing her mother dead, and she doesn’t understand why her brother can’t let it go. She doesn’t understand why he keeps pushing her for this information years later.“Don’t ask me things like that,” she says. “You should know it upsets me.”
Comments: 18
Kudos: 103





	Into the Fire

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Mentions of death and dead bodies, but nothing graphic.

It starts with his mother’s death.

Sokka never sees her body. They won’t let him. When he asks what happened, Hakoda can’t even look at him. His father— the chief of the tribe, the strongest man that Sokka has ever known—is _crying_. It’s the first time he’s ever seen him do this. There is no scarier moment than this one, when his father is not who he is supposed to be and his mother is dead. He knows this because Katara is screaming it.

When Bato’s hands reach for him, when he’s getting pulled away from the scene, Sokka can’t even find the strength to struggle. He wants to break free of the hold and fight. He knows that he has to fight _something_ or _someone,_ but there is nobody there but Bato, who is saying comforting words that Sokka can’t even hear over the roar of his own thoughts. How is he just supposed to walk away from this? It doesn’t seem right, but his feet keep moving nonetheless and he never has the strength to stop them. He wants to, but he simply cannot.

When he’s being ushered into a tent, Sokka sees Bato’s face. He sees the fear, the anger, and the fury written all over it. He recognizes those things from when Bato’s wife was taken too. It’s a face he only sees when the worst has happened. And now it’s finally happened to him.

“Why can’t I see her?” he asks, when his grandmother steps in, a wailing Katara in tow. “I want to see mom.”

“Sokka,” Kanna starts, but for once she doesn’t seem to know what to say to him.

What can you say to a child that has just lost his mother?

*

It isn’t fair, he thinks, that bad things have to happen to good people. 

Sokka is nine years old and has grown up in a war. He has seen a lot of bad things happen to a lot of good people. His mother is one of the many. Bato’s wife was one of the many too. He’s come to realize that nobody in the South Pole is safe from misfortune. Not when the Fire Nation is out there making sure that it keeps happening to them.

It isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that his mother had to die. It isn’t fair that his family is ruined.

It isn’t fair that they wouldn’t let him see her too.

These days, Katara can’t stop crying. The tears flow from the moment she wakes up until the moment she goes to sleep. She misses her mother. She can’t get the image out of her head of her lying there. She’s eight years old and has seen her mother dead. Kanna never leaves her side because of it. There is always someone with Katara, to pull her into a hug and wipe her tears away when she’s screaming. There is always someone there to run their fingers through her hair and shush her gently. There is always someone there to lull her into a fitful slumber.

These days, Sokka doesn’t have much to say. He’s done his fair share of crying, but he doesn’t cry like Katara does. When Sokka feels like he’s going to explode with sadness, he doesn’t seek out the arms of an adult. When he feels a squeeze on his arm or a hand in his hair, Sokka pulls away and tries to find somewhere to be by himself. It’s a bit hard to find privacy when your mother has died and every single grown up in the village is trying to look out for you, but sometimes Kanna lets him sit alone for a while so he can think. 

So he can _feel_.

“Everyone deals with things in their own way,” she says. “And there’s no wrong way to deal with them.”

He tries to remember that in the moments when Katara’s sadness gets the best of her, when she’s asking why he doesn’t feel the same way that she does. Katara deals with her grief in the loudest way possible, feeling it with every inch of her soul and inviting others to feel it too. She wants everyone to know just how much it hurts. Maybe then, somehow, someone will finally hear her and wake her up from this ongoing nightmare that she’s certain she must be trapped in.

But Sokka is quiet in his misery. He’s private about his grief, though he misses his mother terribly. He longs for her at every waking moment, wishing she would appear in front of him to pick him up and say that she’ll never leave again. There are many things Sokka is wishing for, but he doesn’t say them in front of his little sister. He doesn’t want her to cry any more than she already has. He thinks that maybe he has to pretend to be strong, so that she can feel better faster, even though he’s certain he’ll never feel better after this himself.

*

He’s quiet until he can no longer be.

“It’s not fair,” he says, when the frustration has bubbled up to the surface and he can no longer contain it. It bursts out of his chest in the form of a sob that leaves him shaking. He has never felt angrier in his entire life. “It’s not fair that I didn’t get to see her. I wanted to see her… I wanted to see her and you guys wouldn’t let me.”

“Sokka,” his father says, setting down his bowl of stewed sea prunes. “We’ve already been over this.”

“But it’s not _fair!_ ” Sokka cries. “Why couldn’t I just see her? Why couldn’t I just see her one last time so that I could say goodbye to her?” When nobody responds, he continues, letting out the anger and the despair that he’s been bottling up for weeks now. “You wouldn’t let me see her even when I asked to. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair because she’s my mom and I wanted to see her and you should have let me!”

“Sokka,” Hakoda says again, trying to summon Kya’s patience. “Stop it.”

“No!” The boy rises to his feet, uncaring when he knocks over his own bowl of sea prunes. They pour all over the floor and over his pants. For a moment, it stings him, but he doesn’t pay the burning much thought, too caught up in another pain that hurts far greater than boiling sea prunes ever could. “Why couldn’t I just see her one time?”

“Sokka!” 

Kanna reacts almost instantly, grabbing the bowl and tugging the boy towards her. “Sokka,” she says, immediately reaching for his pants. He might’ve been saved from a terrible burn because of the thickness of his clothing, but she can feel the heat on his legs and knows that it must hurt him nonetheless. Without hesitation, she begins to pull his pants down to help relieve him of the pain, but she’s surprised when he fights her. Unlike before, when Bato had led him away from the scene of his mother’s murder and he hadn’t been able to fight, Sokka finds the strength to break free of his grandmother’s hold and step out of her reach. 

Hakoda is now standing too, and in the back of his mind, Sokka registers that Katara is crying. 

“Sokka,” Hakoda says sternly, fearfully. “That’s enough! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

But Sokka simply pulls his pants back up and offers a glare to his father and grandmother. He doesn’t care if he gets hurt. He doesn’t care what happens to him, even if he’s going to be grounded for the next decade. All he wants is an answer, and by the spirits, he is going to get one even if it’s the last thing he does. 

“No! Just tell me why you didn’t let me see her!”

“Because you are a _child_ ,” comes the response. “You’re a child and I didn’t want you to see that!”

“But Katara got to see that!”

It’s like Hakoda has been slapped in the face. The words make him flinch, causing him to stop for a moment to think. To remember. His biggest regret, after failing to save Kya, was allowing his daughter to be there too. The least he could’ve done was spare her the horror of seeing her mother killed, but by the time he’d made it into the tent, Kya was gone and Katara was right behind him. He’d had no time to stop her before it was too late. It’s a guilt that has been weighing over his head all of this time and Sokka has just reminded him of that. His son has just reminded him of what a failure he has been to his family as a husband and father, and to his entire village as a chief.

For a moment, Hakoda doesn’t know how to respond to that kind of humiliation.

Sokka continues only because the silence allows him to. “Katara got to see what she looked like. I only wanted to see what she looked like. I just wanted to know. But nobody would ever let me see her and nobody would tell me when I asked. Even Katara won’t tell me!”

“I can’t!” Katara says, standing up to join him. She reaches for him, only to be pushed away when she’s within arms reach. In her surprise, she stumbles and only manages to avoid a fall because of their father’s quick reflexes. Katara, though not injured, only begins to cry harder.

“Sokka,” Kanna scolds. “Be careful! You know not to shove.”

In his frustration, his response is to shove her as well. He’d normally never do this, wouldn’t dare to even think about such a thing, but Sokka is a ticking time bomb that has finally exploded and can only leave destruction in his path. He is angry. He is sad. He is a confused child that is struggling to accept the fact that his mother is dead, especially when he was never given the opportunity to confirm it himself with his own two eyes.

Kanna knows this, of course, so she doesn’t try to stop him. When he glares at her and steps forward again, reaching out to shove her once more to elicit some kind of response out of her, she braces herself and doesn’t raise her voice at him. She’s calm when he calls his name, when she reaches out to touch his shoulder, to ask him kindly not to shove again.

Hakoda, on the other hand, has finally lost all of his patience. 

He’s not proud of what he does next, but in his own anger and his own frustration, he can’t find it in himself to understand. The stress of Kya’s loss has affected them all greatly, and though he’s tried his best to remain stoic in front of his children, the stress of caring for them after such a blow to the heart has been challenging to deal with. Even looking at their faces pains him at times, to see them look so much like their mother, and to see how much pain he has caused them both by not being able to protect them from the terrors of war. It’s all becoming too much, and though he should be mature in this moment when his son has finally broken down after all this time, Hakoda lets his emotions get the best of him instead. It’s because he wants to break down too.

“Sokka,” he growls, grabbing the boy by the arm and roughly tugging him back. Sokka stumbles and falls to his behind, but Hakoda pulls him up with a yank and forces the boy to stand in front of him. “You do _not_ shove people—not in this house and not anywhere. That is not acceptable, and especially not to your family. Gran Gran is your elder and you will show her respect. Now, apologize.”

“No,” the boy says, trying to break free of his father’s grasp. He sends a fist flying at the man’s chest in his attempt to fight him off.

Hakoda’s biggest regret is not saving the life of his wife. His second biggest regret is not shielding his daughter from the horror of having to see her dead body. His third biggest regret is slapping his son across the face in the middle of an outburst, when his son is inconsolable and struggling and just needs someone to help him. Hakoda has never been one for violence and has never had much need to lay a hand on his children in this way, but it happens before he can even think twice about it. His hand comes away from Sokka’s cheek with a deafening _smack!_ and suddenly the entire household has gone quiet.

“ _Hakoda_ ,” his mother says. Her tone conveys her message clearly.

In shock, Hakoda releases Sokka’s arm. The boy, who was still trying to pull away, falls to the floor once more and stares up at his father. He’s still crying, but he’s quiet now, confusion written on his face where anger once was. Katara silently moves to kneel beside him, to look at him, before she too looks up at her father, trying to understand. Like a fish, Hakoda can only open and close his mouth, too horrified with his own actions to know what to say about them.

“I—”

And then suddenly Sokka is up on his feet, holding a hand to his face. The slap by his father hurts more than the sea prunes ever did. He lets out a sob, louder than ever before, and then immediately storms out into the cold. Hakoda instinctively takes a step forward to go after him, but his mother stops him with an arm and a glare. 

“Leave him,” she says, reaching for Katara’s arm and gently pulling her along towards the door. “He needs a minute, and so do you. When you’ve collected yourself, you may speak to him. But until then, I will handle your children.”

*

Sokka runs until his legs won’t carry him any further. 

He’d ignored the concerned looks and questions thrown his way as he’d trudged through the village in tears and red-cheeked. Now he’s reached the far outskirts of the village, where he’s certain nobody will find him, where he’s certain he’ll have plenty of time to be by himself before anyone even tries. 

He collapses into the snow and ignores the way the cold stings his face and his fingers. He just cries and cries until he can’t cry any longer. Then, when he’s finally reached that point, he reminds himself of the way it had felt to feel his father’s hand on his face and suddenly regains the ability to cry once more, like magic. Just like Katara’s waterbending.

Looking back, Sokka knows that he shouldn’t have hit his father. He knows that he shouldn’t have shoved Gran Gran like that either, or even Katara for that matter. He knows that was a bit mean of him. But he’d been so upset at the time, he hadn’t been able to control himself. Nobody seemed to understand what he was feeling, and the only way he could express his sadness for that was with anger. Now a part of him regrets that, knowing his father would never hit him unless he was really out of line, and he has to wonder whether his family will ever accept him again following that behavior. 

_Maybe I can’t live with them anymore,_ he thinks. _Maybe things really are going to be messed up forever._

He begins to ponder what a life would be like without the rest of his family, rather than just his mother. He tries to envision a life without his father, who has always comforted him after a bad dream. He tries to envision a life without his grandmother, who always cleans his face for him and gives him some extra seal jerky when she knows he’s having a particularly tough day. He wonders what it would be like to lose Katara, his best friend and best sister, and not be able to play with her again. To not be able to protect her.

Sokka wipes his face as he thinks about how he should’ve protected his mother. Maybe if he had been there to help her, none of this would have happened. 

He tries to picture her at that time, wondering what she might’ve been doing and wondering what she was thinking about. Was she worried about him and Katara? Did she try to put up a fight? Sokka knows that his mother was smart and brave. She wouldn’t have let someone hurt her without fighting back. He just hopes that they hadn’t hurt her too badly before she died. He hopes that when she did die, it was quick and she didn’t feel a lot of pain. If he had been able to see her body, maybe he could have made sure that she didn’t. But nobody had allowed him to see her, and as his curiosity intensified, his imagination filled in the missing pieces.

Sokka has been hunting before. He has seen death in this manner only. For a moment, he tries to imagine his mother being hunted in the same way they hunt for food, but the thought sickens him and he immediately stops thinking about it.

“It was fire,” he says, sniffling. “It had to be fire.”

He has felt the burn of it himself before, but not many times and only momentarily. He wonders what it would feel like to be engulfed in flames fully, to have a fire reach out and embrace his entire being. Would it hurt more or would it hurt less to be burned all at once? He feels sad when he thinks about this, but there’s a part of him that is desperate to know. There is a part of him that feels that he will never be at peace with her being gone until he does.

“Sokka?” 

When he looks up, it’s Bato’s concerned face that greets him. He’s been gone for a while. Gran Gran must have sent the man to look for him. Sokka watches as Bato approaches, not saying anything, not having the strength to apologize for running off or to explain himself. But Bato doesn’t ask questions or scold him. To his surprise, the man hesitates for only a moment before he sits down in the snow beside him. For a short time, they share a silence. Then, the man begins to speak.

“I’m not surprised I found you here,” Bato says, turning to look at him. “It’s a good place to do some thinking.”

Sokka swipes at his face again and nods, trying to leave no evidence of his crying behind. 

“What were you thinking about, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Nothing,” Sokka says. He doesn’t want to be honest. “I was just trying to sit here. I wanted to be by myself.”

“I see,” says Bato. He gives Sokka a nod of understanding and an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting your personal time then. I just wanted to see how you were doing. You’ve been gone for a while now, and we didn’t know where you were. It’s starting to get a bit late, so we were getting a little worried about you.”

“I made my father angry. I don’t think he wants to see me right now.”

“Actually, he is quite angry. But your father isn’t angry with _you_ , Sokka. He’s angry with himself.” 

Sokka sniffles. “What?”

Bato reaches a hand over and places it on the boy’s shoulder. “Your father isn’t angry with you. He told me so himself. But he is angry with himself for what happened. He said that he had a bad reaction to something you said to him and that he made a mistake.” He gives Sokka’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “I’m not going to apologize to you on your father’s behalf though. He can do that himself. I just wanted to let you know that he isn’t angry with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. In fact, he really wants to see you.”

“He does?”

“He does. He’s been waiting for you to come back.” Bato stops to glance around at the immediate area, before he returns his focus to the boy beside him. He’s known Sokka since the day he was born and has always looked after him like a father would. With no children of his own, Bato has always gravitated to his best friend’s children. Especially now, he knows Sokka and Katara need looking after. “You came out a pretty long way all by yourself, Sokka. I know you like to come here sometimes, but you should try to stay closer to camp when you’re by yourself. It can be dangerous out here when you’re all alone.”

“Sorry,” Sokka says, wiping his nose on his sleeve. 

“It’s alright. I trust that you’ll be more careful next time.” 

Sokka stares at Bato for a moment, then turns his attention back to the snow. He appreciates that Bato never judges him. Bato is always nice and is always trying to understand him. Right now, it seems like Bato may be the only person that is truly on his side. Maybe that’s why Bato isn’t rushing to get him home or yelling at him. Instead, they’re just sitting together, Sokka crunching the snow under his boots and Bato just enjoying the view. The companionship is comforting.

When Sokka reaches for some snow and begins to form it into a ball in his palms, Bato smiles.

“Your hands aren’t cold?”

“A little bit,” Sokka says, just before tossing the snowball out in front of him. “I forgot my gloves.”

“Would you like to borrow mine? I’ve been wearing them for a while so they’re pretty warm now.”

Sokka thinks about that offer for a moment before he shakes his head to decline it. 

“Okay. Were you planning on heading back pretty soon then?” 

“I don’t know,” the boy says, giving the man a shrug. He wants to go back, or at least part of him does—the cold part of him that is tired of sitting out here in the snow for this long with wet pants, the part of him that is starting to feel a little hungry by now. But another part of him is still scared about what might happen when he gets back. He wants to avoid the trouble for as long as he possibly can. “Is Gran Gran mad at me?”

Bato shakes his head. “No, I don’t believe she is. I don’t think anyone is mad at you.”

“Oh.” 

“Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Sokka?”

Sokka simply shrugs again. He doesn’t mind being asked, but that doesn’t mean he has to answer. 

“What do you miss the most about your mother?”

The question leaves him speechless for a few moments. He wasn’t expecting it, and for a moment, he almost feels like he’s going to cry again. Sokka doesn’t want to cry though, not in front of Bato, so he frowns and rubs his face, trying to come up with something to say that won’t make him sound sad, even though he has every right to be that. Warriors are supposed to be strong, after all. “I don’t know. I don’t… think I have a ‘most’ thing. I just kind of miss her.”

“What I miss the most about your mother is her sense of humor.” Bato smiles as he thinks back to when he would have long conversations with Hakoda and Kya, and when his wife would join too. There were always many laughs shared around the fire when they were together. “She was such a funny person, wasn’t she? She always found a way to get a good giggle out of everyone, even when they were in a bad mood.”

Sokka nods, but remains quiet. He knows he’ll start crying if he tries to talk again.

“It’s really hard when you miss somebody. Especially when that somebody has left your life really quickly, and you weren’t ready to say goodbye to them.” Sighing, he turns to the boy beside him, the boy that has just lost his mother only weeks ago, and wishes he could take his pain from him. But Bato knows he can’t, so he can only help Sokka through that pain instead. It’s a pain he is quite familiar with. “I felt that way when I lost my mother too. And I felt the same way when I lost my wife.”

When Sokka doesn’t respond, Bato continues on.

“It was a while ago now, but I still miss them both so much. I think I’m always going to miss them. But that’s okay, you know? Because missing a person is not really a bad thing. It just means that they’re very important to you and that you want to keep them in your heart, and in your memory, forever.”

“But what if I can’t remember her?” 

Bato shakes his head. “She’s your mother, Sokka. I don’t think forgetting her is ever going to be a problem for you.”

That’s when the dam breaks. Sokka doesn’t fight back the tears when they come pouring out this time, mostly because he doesn’t have the strength to. Bato doesn’t judge him though. Bato understands. Wordlessly, he pulls the boy to him and is relieved when Sokka doesn’t try to get away for once. Sokka slips his arms around Bato and cries hard into his shoulder, body shaking.

“It’s alright,” Bato says, holding the boy tight and rubbing circles into his back. “Let it out. I promise I won’t tell anybody.”

*

Bato returns to camp twenty minutes later with Sokka on his back. 

Hakoda is at their side in an instant. There is a moment of hesitation from him, though he wants nothing more than to grab his child and hold him until the sun comes up. After what happened, he knows an apology is due first. He observes his son with relief, but also with sadness and an air of guilt. Then, he wordlessly expresses his appreciation towards his friend, who has admittedly been a better father today than he has. When Bato nods at him and sets Sokka down, Hakoda nods back. Then, he reaches for his son. 

“Sokka,” he says, touching him on the arm, inviting him closer. “I am _so_ sorry.”

For a moment, the boy only stares at him, trying to figure out how to respond to his father’s apology. It’s obvious right away, however, that Sokka has forgiven him, that Sokka understands at least a little bit, because he throws himself at his father a moment later and refuses to let go. Hakoda lifts his son into his arms and holds him tight. Sokka’s legs curl around his frame instantly, and this is how he carries his crying child home.

When they’re alone in the privacy of their home, Sokka is sat down by the fire to warm up.

“I’m so sorry, son,” Hakoda says, swiping a thumb over his cheek. “I was wrong for what I did. You did not deserve that from anybody and I shouldn’t have reacted that way to you. I was just...“ Sighing, Hakoda shakes his head. “I was frustrated. And I was a bit sad too. That’s why I reacted badly and made a mistake. And that doesn’t excuse my actions at all, because I shouldn’t have done that to you regardless, but I just want you to understand. It wasn’t your fault. I’m not angry with you for anything that happened here today. And I’m very, very sorry that I hurt you.”

Sokka wipes at his runny nose with his hand. “You were feeling sad too?”

“Yes, I was. We were both feeling sad. In fact, I think all four of us were feeling that way.” He reaches to brush some of Sokka’s hair out of his face, the strands that have come loose from his wolftail. “But I should have been more respectful of your sadness, Sokka. You were upset and I just reacted like I was angry with you. But I never was. I was angry for other reasons.”

“But I was being bad. I didn’t listen to you or Gran Gran,” Sokka admits, hanging his head low. “I’m sorry.”

Hakoda shakes his head again. “It’s okay, me and Gran Gran understand. You were upset and that’s okay. It’s okay to be upset sometimes. And when you’re upset, it’s easy to not listen. So, that’s why we aren’t angry with you.” He grabs his son by the chin, gently, and pulls his face up so that they’re looking at each other. “You should apologize to your sister for pushing her though. I know you didn’t mean to upset her, but it’s not nice to push people around. She could’ve gotten hurt.”

Sokka’s response to that is to burst back into tears.

Hakoda is still doing damage control by the time Kanna returns to the tent with Katara at her side. The girl releases her grandmother’s hand the moment she spots her brother and immediately rushes toward him, throwing her arms around his slightly larger frame. Sokka hugs her back, squeezing her body a little too tightly. It’s obvious that she’s forgiven him without even hearing his apology.

“Sokka! You’re back!”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “For pushing you.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

When Katara is done hugging him, it’s Kanna’s turn. She approaches her grandson and reaches for him instantly, pulling him into a tight embrace. Sokka feels like he’s going to cry again just for the shame of what he did, but Kanna seems to have read his mind before he could even open his mouth. “My dear boy. Don’t you worry about anything that’s happened. There’s nothing you could do that could ever make me love you any less.”

“But I sh—”

“It’s okay. I already know. You don’t have to say it.” She slowly pulls away from her grandson, looking him over for a moment, before she turns her attention down to his pants and motions for him to stand up. “Come, now. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes and into something clean so I can wash them. You smell like sea prunes.”

*

As time passes, Sokka realizes that Bato is right. 

Even if he wanted to, he could never forget.

*

A village elder passes when he’s twelve. 

It’s been a particularly harsh winter and Aput has fallen ill. He succumbs to death at eighty-three, surrounded by his wife and daughters. Sokka isn’t there when it happens, but he catches a glimpse of the man as he’s being carefully removed from the family’s tent.

He looks like he’s sleeping. 

This confuses Sokka, who has only seen death in the form of bloodied seals and arctic hens with their heads cut off. The death he has seen in hunting, and in necessity, has never been this clean or this simple. Aput is not painful to look at when he sees him. It’s strange to think that a death could happen so quietly like this, where a man could so easily slip away in the middle of a dream without so much of a word or a scream.

Did his mother look this peaceful when she was put away too? Did she have the time to say anything before she too went to sleep?

“Sokka,” Kanna says, gently tugging the boy away. “Come with me. There is nothing for you to see here.”

*

He asks her when they’re alone later.

“Is that what mom looked like? Did she look like that when you saw her?”

Katara looks up at him from her sewing and gives him a look. It’s the same look he’s always gotten when he’s tried to get this information out of her. It’s a look of frustration and sadness and hurt. It is not a memory she has ever liked to reflect on, seeing her mother dead, and she doesn’t understand why her brother can’t let it go. She doesn’t understand why he keeps pushing her for this information years later.

“Don’t ask me things like that,” she says. “You should know it upsets me.”

“I’m sorry. I just need to know.”

“No, you don’t.” Her voice quivers here. “Trust me when I tell you this, Sokka, you’re much better off not knowing. And for that reason, I’m never going to tell you. I’m just not going to do that to you.” Katara blinks away the few tears that have started to escape her and then goes back to her sewing. 

Sokka stares at the fire for the rest of the day.

*

His father leaves when he’s thirteen. 

Correction: His father leaves him _behind_ when he’s thirteen. 

Sokka stares out at the horizon and tries to imagine what it will feel like when he sees the fleet returning. He tries to imagine what it would feel like to find out that the war is over and that he won’t have to lose anyone else ever again. So far, this war has taken two people from him and has left so much anger inside of him as a replacement. He’s hated the Fire Nation since they stole his mother away, but he hates them even more now that his father has been stolen too. Even more so knowing that his father is alive and yet simply not where he is supposed to be.

To think that these warriors will be risking their lives without him makes him shake. News doesn’t travel fast to the South Pole. How long would it take to find out that his father is injured, or worse? How long would it take to find out that his father is dead?

A horrible thought occurs to Sokka that he might never find out at all. His father may simply never return and never be heard from again. A body may never be recovered. There would be nothing to bury in his name. No answers. No closure. 

There would be nothing for him to see.

His eyes sting and he rubs the tears away angrily. He’s ashamed of being so, so afraid.

*

Bato is wrong.

Sokka is starting to forget her. 

*

He’s afraid that he’s going to forget him too.

*

The next time he is greeted by death, he’s at the Air Temple.

Monk Gyatso surely did not pass as peacefully as Aput did. The evidence of the fight is there. The body is there too. It’s eerie to think that this collection of bones once used to belong to somebody. It’s strange to think that these arms once embraced the Avatar with love. Now they sit unused and unclaimed. It has taken one hundred years for the news to reach Aang. 

Sokka still wonders how long it will take for the news to reach him.

Later, but not much later, he begins to wonder how long it will take for the news to reach Gran Gran. It has never been his concern that he will die too. It is a fact of life that he has always known and has always ignored. He has always worried more about those who will leave him, not those he will leave behind. This changes though as time begins to pass. Some mornings he wakes up wondering if this is the last place he is going to see during his travels. He wonders too if this is the place where his sister will go to sleep and never wake up again, if this is where the Avatar cycle ceases for good.

Sokka doesn’t know what to say when Aang is crying for his guardian. There doesn’t seem to be anything appropriate to say to a child that has just lost everything. In this moment, at age fifteen, he begins to understand why his cries and his demands were also often met with silence when he was freshly grieving. There is simply nothing to say that will make a situation like this better. Sometimes the only thing that can be offered is a hand on the shoulder and a listening ear.

He understands now why they never let him see her. If he could, he would go back in time to stop Aang from seeing Gyatso too. There are just some things that children should be protected from.

Sokka is not a child any longer. Sokka is now a protector of children.

*

Yue dies in his arms. He's failed to protect her too.

There’s a part of him that denies this, mostly because her situation is special. Yue may be gone, but she’s not really. She’s no longer a part of this world, but she is still a part of the universe. A big part of it. When he looks into the sky, he can see her shining down at him, as beautiful and as bright as she always was. From now on and until forever, the stars will always pale in comparison.

She’s gorgeous to look at, but she’s no longer tangible. She hardly seems real.

What good is it to be able to see something or someone that isn’t going to look back at him? He aches for her smile and her laughter then. When he looks into the night sky and whispers her name, he’s desperate to hear her whisper his back. He lets his mind convince him that the wind isn’t just the wind and that a twinkle isn’t just a twinkle. He searches for signs of her everywhere, trying to find something that proves to him that she’s there. He searches for something that might prove to him that she isn’t. He tries, but the search always leaves him empty-handed. Without the answer that he’s been looking for, he feels completely hollow, like he too could be picked up by a breeze and quietly carried off into the darkness.

How is he just supposed to walk away from this? It doesn’t seem right. 

It has never seemed right.

*

He’s going to forget her. 

*

They’re camping out on the outskirts of a Fire Nation village when he asks. 

“What do you think it feels like to die?”

For a while, the only answer he receives is silence. Sokka isn’t offended or surprised by it. He bathes in the moment greedily, like he can feel the tension coating his skin and swallowing him whole. Somehow, the feeling is enjoyable. It’s like taking a warm bath after a tiring day and his muscles relaxing. It’s like letting out the stress in his bones and letting his face slip under the surface of the water.

This time it’s not the bath water that soothes him though. This time it’s the heat of the fire. 

“I don’t know,” Zuko says. “Why are you asking?” 

“Because I’ve always wondered what it would be like,” Sokka replies, staring at the display just inches in front of him. The flames dance rhythmically. He notices this. He knows that there is order to the chaos. Fire is not as uncoordinated as he once thought it to be. In a way, it’s almost beautiful to witness. It’s like he’s mesmerized. “I’ve always wondered what it might feel like. You know, like whether it’s peaceful or not. Or whether it hurts.”

“Why? Wouldn’t you rather not have to find out?”

Sokka shrugs. “It’s going to happen to all of us sooner or later. I just… want to know. I’ve just always been curious about it.” The warrior lets out a heavy sigh. He watches the way the flames shift, then turns to look at his friend. It seems strange to call Zuko that, but it also seems inaccurate to merely call him an ally. They’ve already been through too much together. “Do you think we’re going to make it?”

Silence again, and then:

“I don’t know.”

Sokka nods. This is what he was afraid Zuko was going to say. But this is also what he is relieved to hear. He’s always figured the others worried about this too, but as an older brother, as a leader, he has never been able to show it. He has never had a good reason to display his doubt or his fear. The truth is, Sokka is terrified that he is going to die. It’s comforting to know that Zuko is afraid he is going to die too. At least he’s not the only one thinking about it tonight.

“Me neither,” he says, reaching his fingers closer. “But I hope we do.”

*

How long will it take for the others to forget _him?_

*

He doesn’t even think about it. When he’s invited in, he accepts the invitation.

For a moment, it’s like the world is moving in slow motion. Time itself has lost all its significance. Sokka is one with the fire in the way he has never been with the water. The sting is not the familiar one of his own element, but for this fleeting moment that he is connected to it, this moment when he feels the power flowing through his veins, he feels strangely complete. It’s like he has found something that he’s been looking for his entire life.

When the moment passes, someone is screaming. He realizes belatedly that it’s himself.

“What are you doing?!” Zuko demands, immediately hauling him away. In another moment in time, Sokka would probably feel a little offended about how easily the banished prince is able to manhandle him. But in this moment, there is only one thing that matters and it is not that. “You idiot! Are you stupid? Why did you do that?”

Sokka doesn’t answer.

“What’s going on?” Katara asks. She’s heard the commotion and has come to investigate. Right away, she’s wide awake, as if she didn’t just stir from her slumber only seconds ago. The war has made them all good at moving quickly. “Sokka! What happened?”

He doesn’t answer that either. 

His sister is at his side in an instant, grabbing at his wrist and inspecting his hand. Admittedly, she has seen a lot worse from their team and a lot worse from him too, but this is still not an injury to be taken lightly. She searches his face for an answer, wanting to know what happened, how he got burned, but is surprised when he turns his face away instead of responding to her. He’s in pain, but he is ashamed to be. Something about it doesn’t seem right.

“Sokka—”

“He touched the fire,” Zuko explains. “He stuck his hand right in it.”

“ _What?_ ” 

“I just wanted to know,” he says, expecting them to understand. “I just had to know what it felt like.”

*

It starts with his mother’s death and it’s going to end on the airship.

Sokka is losing his grip on the girl in his grasp and he knows that it is going to kill her. He knows that when she finally slips through his fingers like sand, he is never going to be able to touch her again. It is the worst feeling to know that he’s failed yet another time to protect someone he cares about, but despite all of the regret and the anger he feels, he can’t help but wonder if this is ultimately for the best.

Falling sounds like a less painful way to die than being burnt to a crisp. As a child, those looking after him had shielded him from such an experience. Now it’s his turn to shield her. All he has to do is let go and he’ll give her the greatest gift that she’ll have ever received—an easier way out.

It’s too late for him, he knows it is. If she’s going to fall, she is going to fall without him. 

Perhaps this is the way it was always meant to be. He’d always wondered what it would be like. He’d always wanted the universe to give him an answer. Now he’s going to get it. By the spirits, he’s going to get the answer and it is going to be the last thing he does. He just wishes she hadn’t come along for the ride.

“I don’t think boomerang is coming back, Toph. I think this is the end.” 

They aren’t much for last words, but there’s no time to say anything else. Even if there was more time, Sokka wouldn’t know what to say. What can you say to a child that is about to lose everything? Up until now, all he’s been able to offer her is a hand. Now even that is about to be taken away from her. 

_I’m sorry_ , he thinks, waiting for it. _I’m so sorry for what_ _I’m about to do to you._

*

He drops her. 

He wakes up screaming. 

Hakoda is at his side in an instant. “Sokka,” he says, slipping his arms around his son to stabilize him. In moments like this, when Sokka isn’t puffing out his chest and trying to be so big, Hakoda is reminded of how devastatingly young he is. He’s a child still, no matter how much war paint he slicks across his face. He’s a child who has been through too much. “Sokka,” he says again, trying to keep his tone calm even though there’s a storm raging inside of his head. “Hey. Relax. It’s me. I’ve got you.”

It’s the third night in a row that Sokka has woken up from a nightmare. The first night, he had been so inconsolable Hakoda had nearly lost it himself. It hurt to see his child like that, to see his first born so distraught beyond relief and unable to explain why, and he’d struggled to keep the tears at bay until his son had fallen back into another fitful slumber. Last night had been a little easier. At least there had been no yelling then.

“I killed her,” Sokka says, heaving. “I dropped her and I killed her.”

“Sokka,” Hakoda says, shaking his head. “You didn’t. Everything’s alright. It was just a bad dream.”

Lately, everything feels like a dream. It feels like the dream he’s dreamt of since childhood, a world without war. Sokka has never known peace like this before and it is so good. It is everything he’s ever wanted. But it is unfamiliar territory too. There is still so much to do, and yet sometimes, too little. It’s far too easy to let his mind wander during times like this. He’s always been a boy with an active imagination. Now, with so many more experiences under his belt and so much to process, there is far too much to imagine. Far too much to fit into just one day.

Sokka wants to wake up again. Like Katara, he wants to be roused from the nightmare he’s certain he must be trapped in. Something about this world is much too frightening. Everything about it is wrong because everything about it is different. Even he is different now, and though he acknowledges how these experiences have helped him grow, he also recognizes the way they’ve damaged him. He can’t stop thinking about how many times he’s failed.

His existence no longer makes sense now that he doesn’t have a job to do.

“Her hand—it was slipping and I couldn’t hold onto her. She was going to fall and it was going to be all my fault.” Sokka releases a shaky breath and wipes his eyes, trying to rid them of tears purely from instinct. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he relays the story to his father, who is watching on with a frown as deep as the sea. “I was going to let her fall, dad. She was going to fall and I tried to hold on but I just couldn’t and I knew there wasn’t any time left and there was nothing I could do and I was just going to let her—”

“Sokka. Son, _slow down_.”

“I was going to let her fall so that she wouldn’t have to feel it too.”

Hakoda grimaces, rubbing a hand up and down the length of his son’s arm. He’s heard some bits and pieces of the events that transpired on the day of Sozin’s Comet. He knows all about his son taking down an entire fleet of airships with the help of the blind earthbending girl and Suki, the young warrior who helped bust him out from The Boiling Rock. He’s heard some vague details about how his son came close to losing his life and would’ve if Suki hadn’t arrived at the moment she did. It pains him to think about, had nearly made him collapse when he’d first heard that, but there is still so much he doesn’t know yet. He’s still trying to fit the rest of the pieces together. 

Tonight, he’s just discovered a new one.

“Okay,” he says, knowing it’s anything but. “Deep breaths. Let’s just try to calm down.”

“I was going to kill her.”

“But you _didn’t_. You held on for as long as you had to and she’s okay now because of that. She’s okay because of you.” Hakoda understands what it feels like to have another person’s safety be his responsibility. He has experienced this for much time now as a chief and as a father. As a former husband, too. He knows the pain of almost losing someone all too well. To lose someone that is right under his nose. To have to live with the failure. He can’t pretend to know what his son feels exactly, but he understands enough. “You saved her life.”

Sokka shakes his head. “I almost lost her. I almost let her slip through my fingers, just like…” He has to pause here to take inventory of all of the times he came close to losing someone that he cared about. Someone he was supposed to have protected. “Just like Yue. She was going to be gone just like Yue. And just like mom too.”

Hakoda stills. 

“I didn’t want to have to do it but I was going to. I just knew there wasn’t going to be any time. It didn’t seem like there was another option and I thought—I just didn’t want it to be like that. I wanted it to be easier for her.”

“Okay,” his father says, nodding and giving him a squeeze. “It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t!”

“Sokka…” For a moment, the chief seems lost for words, but once he’s had a moment to collect his thoughts, he speaks again. “Sokka, listen to me.” He waits for his son to look at him before he continues, gently brushing some of the loose hair out of his face. “What you did that day—what you had to go through—I can’t even imagine how tough of a situation that would have been. Knowing that you had so few options… As your father, it’s really scary to hear about, and I know it was even scarier for you to be there. But I want you to know something.”

Hakoda pauses just for a moment, just to make sure that he’s got his son’s full attention, before carrying on.

“You did the same thing that I would have done too.” It’s hard to envision himself in a situation like the one Sokka was in, holding onto a child for dear life. It pains him to think of his own children slipping through his fingers like that. Still, there’s a raw honesty in his words. He’s not just saying this to make his son feel better. “You fought hard until the end, for as long as you could. You were so brave to take down that fleet of airships and everything that came before and after that. And not only were you trying to look after yourself, but you were looking after your friends too. And if there’s anything that I know about you, son, it’s that you make an excellent warrior and an even more excellent friend. And I know that you feel guilty and scared about what happened, but as horrible as it could’ve been, you were trying to look out for her. Even by making that decision, when you had almost no options left, you were just taking care of her in the best way you could.”

“I didn’t want her to get burned,” Sokka says. “I didn’t _want_ her to fall, but…”

“I know. You just wanted to do what was best for her at that moment. And if sparing her a more painful death by letting her fall seemed like the best and only way to help her, then I don’t fault you for feeling like you had to do that.” He wipes a tear from his son’s cheek. “When faced with such a hopeless situation, I think I would feel the same way. I would want to do the same thing, even though in my heart it’s not what I really want to happen. But out of two bad possibilities, if one seems worse, I’m going to choose the other option. It makes sense and I’m sure to her it would make sense too.” 

“Okay.”

Hakoda sighs and squeezes him. “I’m so _proud_ of you, Sokka. I really am. I’ve always been proud of you, but after everything that’s happened throughout this time, and especially this year… I just couldn’t be prouder of the man that you’ve become. You and your sister both have made me more proud than you could imagine. And I love you both so much.”

Sokka closes his eyes and buries his face into his father’s neck. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course you can. You can tell me anything.”

“I’m not sure if I love mom anymore.”

Hakoda is quiet for a moment before he cautiously asks his question. “What makes you say that?”

“Because I can’t remember her,” Sokka admits, like he’s confessing a sin. He feels ashamed of this, having said this to so few people, and it sends a wave of anguish through him that is so strong it feels like a jolt of lightning. All the guilt and fear that he’s carried deep inside of him for all of these years starts spilling out of him uncontrollably, in the form of tears and in the form of heaving sobs. He’s helpless against the onslaught of his own emotions. “I can’t remember her anymore. Whenever I try to think about her, I just can’t picture her face anymore. Or her voice. And Katara and you miss her so much and I miss her too but I can’t find her in my head anymore and she was my mom and that just… How can a son not even remember his own mother?”

Hakoda frowns. “Sokka… Of course you love your mother. I don’t have any doubt that you do.”

“But then why can’t I remember her?”

“Because it’s been six years, son. Because it’s been a long time and so much has happened and… well, to be honest, sometimes even I have a hard time getting all the details right.” It pains Hakoda to admit this too, but he knows that this is a normal part of moving on. It’s been so long now since his Kya has gone. He has spent a lot of time trying to get her memory exactly right, to honor her properly. It hurts to know that his son has struggled with this too. “It’s hard to remember everything when you haven’t seen somebody in such a long time. And I know that it feels bad to not be able to remember everything, but that doesn’t mean that she’s gone from your mind or your heart completely, and it certainly doesn’t mean that you don’t love her.”

“But Katara remembers.”

Hakoda shakes his head. “We don’t know what Katara feels, Sokka. We don’t know what Katara thinks about or what she remembers. And maybe she does have a clearer image of your mom in her head, but that doesn’t mean that Katara loves her more than you do. You don’t need to talk about her all the time or think about her all the time or even remember her all the time to prove that you still love her.”

“But don’t you think she would be upset with me? If she knew…”

“No, I don’t.” He rubs circles into Sokka’s back, shaking his head again. “I really don’t, son. Because your mother loved you more than anything and she would understand. She’d know just how much it hurt for you to go through that. And if there’s anything in the world that she could ever want for her kids—for you—it would be that you’re happy and that you don’t carry any guilt about what happened to her. I can guarantee that.”

Now it’s Sokka’s turn to be quiet for a while. He’s needed to let these things out for some time now, and he gives himself the time he needs to let it all out before he even tries to formulate a sentence. “Dad, I want to ask you something. And I’m sorry if the question makes you uncomfortable or mad or if you don’t want to answer, but… I really just need to ask this question. Because I need to know.”

“What is it?”

“When she died…” His voice is small and quiet here, like he can hardly find the strength to speak it aloud. Once again, it reminds his father of how painfully young he still is. “When that scumbag killed her, do you think it was quick?”

“Hm.” Hakoda clenches his jaw as he thinks about it. He wants to help Sokka feel better, but he’s afraid of saying the wrong thing. It’s really not something he even wants to think about. After all these years though, he knows that his son is old enough to understand. He’s wanted answers and clearly he’s needed them for his own peace of mind. If there’s a chance he can make things easier for his son, then Hakoda is willing to try, even if it means facing difficult memories that he’d rather not reflect on. He owes him that much at least, after everything he’s put him through. “You know, I really hope so. But if my memory serves me correctly, then I think it must’ve been. Katara ran for me immediately and by the time I got there, it had already happened. That wasn’t much time unaccounted for.”

“So, you think it did?”

“I think it did. I really hope it did.”

“Okay.” Sokka nods to himself, before he begins to pull away from his father. Sniffling, he offers the man a nod as well, one that makes him look slightly more sure of himself, then sighs. “Thanks. I know you don’t like to think about it, or talk about it, just like me and Katara don’t, because it hurts. But I’ve always been scared about what happened. Like whether she suffered too much or not. I just always wanted to know— _really_ know—what happened to her.” 

“I never wanted you to worry about that sort of thing,” Hakoda says. “But of course you would worry about that. You’re a good son and you love your mother dearly. It’s natural for you to wonder about that. To want to know for her sake.” He clears his throat and brushes another tear away from Sokka’s cheek. “I’m sorry that I can’t guarantee you she didn’t suffer, because she must have. But I really do believe it must’ve happened quickly. And if that brings you any consolation at all, then I’m more than willing to tell you about it.”

“You feel like it’s your fault, don’t you? That you didn’t protect her.”

Hakoda nods. “I do, a lot of the time. But blaming myself got me nowhere. It’s not healthy to do that to yourself. And that’s why I don’t want you to blame yourself for anything that happened either, with anybody. You always did the best you could and everyone knows that about you. And nothing was ever your fault.”

“It’s hard not to feel like it is sometimes. Like I failed. But I’m trying not to.”

“When you feel that way, you can always come talk to me. You know that, right?” 

Sokka actually offers up a smile. It’s small and makes him look as tired as he is, but it’s a smile nonetheless. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, dad. And I’m sorry for scaring you, if I did.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything,” Hakoda says, shaking his head yet again. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s normal to have nightmares. We’ve all been through so much and especially you kids. I feel like I’m going to have a heart attack just thinking about all the trouble you and your sister got yourselves into during your travels.” He releases a small laugh and is very pleased when Sokka reciprocates the amusement. “It’s alright, son. It’s over now and it’s going to be alright. I’m here now and I’ll make sure of it.”

“I’m scared about what’s going to happen now that the war is over,” Sokka says, moving to lie down. “Everything is going to change. Nothing is going to be the same anymore.”

Hakoda lies down beside his son and nods. “Yes, things are going to change a lot, but we have to stay optimistic and try to make things change for the better. There’s still a lot of work to do to keep us busy. But let’s try to worry about that stuff later, okay? Right now, it’s late. You should try to get some sleep again.” 

Sokka sighs but agrees. “Okay.”

“Son?”

“Hm?” Sokka turns to squint at his father in the darkness. 

“Thank you for looking after your sister all of this time. I’m sorry that you had so much responsibility.” 

“Oh. Well, I would’ve taken care of her whether you told me to or not. But I’m glad to have been able to help, even if it was just by looking after her.” Sokka rubs a hand over his face and then drops his arm to his side. “I’m actually really happy that you made me stay behind. I didn’t get it at first, and I was really upset with you when you left, but I get it now. And I’m not mad at you for that anymore, because I think it would’ve been worse if I had gone with you.”

“Well, I’m glad you see it the same way I do.”

Sokka can’t fight off the yawn. “Me too. And dad?”

“Yes, Sokka?”

“If you have a nightmare, you can wake me up. You can talk to me too—warrior to warrior.”

Hakoda smiles. He doesn’t want to burden his children with his problems after they’ve already been through so much, but it touches his heart to hear this coming from his son. After everything, after all the guilt he’s put himself through thinking about his children, they’ve still turned out to be incredibly kind and generous people. They’ve grown a lot since the time before he left, and though a part of him will always ache for the time that was lost between them, he feels a wave of satisfaction wash over him. The circumstances were never what he wanted for them, but he’s happy to know that he didn’t fail in raising them completely, even if he did have a lot of help. 

Kya would be proud of him too. The thought brings tears to his eyes, but he quickly blinks them away. Now is not the time for him to be emotional. Now is the time for him to hold his son tight, not because either of them needs the comfort, but simply because he can. It’s been a long time since he’s had the freedom to do this whenever he pleases and he’s not going to take that for granted.

“Thanks, son. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Okay, good. You’re welcome.”

“Let’s get some sleep, kid,” he says, closing his eyes and pulling his son close. “If anyone has earned a good night’s rest, it’s you. The world can wait until tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself sad writing this.
> 
> Also, I love Gran Gran with all my heart. She deserves all the credit in the world.


End file.
